


Just take your damn clothes off, Night.

by Artemisausten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, F/M, Feyre has no idea that Rhys has a thing for her, Naked People, and other naked people stuff, but nothing super explicit or smutty, mentions of Rhys’ cock, showering, vulnerable Rhys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemisausten/pseuds/Artemisausten
Summary: College AU where Rhys and Feyre are roommates, and Feyre comes up with the brilliant idea to shower together to conserve water. If only Rhys didn’t want her.If only she didn’t realize that she wants Rhys, too.Based on a tumblr prompt.————————“But you want to shower together?” Rhys asks again, wanting perfect clarity before this little idea of hers gets put into practice. Feyre, however, is growing more and more impatient with the question. She doesn’t want to be asked again and again if she’s sure that she wants them to share a shower—she wouldn’t have suggested it if she wasn’t sure about the idea. She just wants to do it already. She wants to get it over with, because she really wants a shower and she’s got a date soon with Tarquin, her activist almost-boyfriend who’s always doing things like this as a way of helping to save the environment. And besides, she thinks, it’s only a little nudity. What’s the big deal?What, Feyre thinks to herself, is the absolute worst that could possibly happen? So she sees Rhys naked.It’s not like he’s that impressive.Right?“Just take your damn clothes off, Night. You’ve got a class on campus this morning, and I’ve got places to be.”
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Just take your damn clothes off, Night.

It was Feyre’s idea, which was frankly pretty surprising to Rhys. Not that Feyre would be concerned for the environment, of course, because she just seems like that sort of person to Rhys. No, it’s the idea of showering together that really surprises Rhys.

Rhys didn’t think she had it in her. “Really?” Rhys leans against the wall by the bathroom door, arms crossed and gazing at her with an amused expression. His hair is still ruffled from sleeping, tufts and stubborn cowlicks sticking out at odd angles as his violet eyes watch Feyre with delighted entertainment. “You want to shower together?”

Not that Rhys is going to complain, of course. In the short time that Rhys and Feyre have been roommates, he’s been eyeing her every chance he’s gotten. He can’t help himself—Feyre Archeron is a beautiful woman. She has the shapely legs of someone who likes to exercise and has the good sense to show them off in short shorts whenever the weather lets her. She has long golden-brown hair that’s silky and that she wears down to frame her face or pulled into a delicate side braid that Rhys always wants to touch, just to feel the texture of so many strands woven together. She has cool blue eyes that brighten with excitement and darken with her mood, and that can pin Rhys in place whenever she scowls at him because the look is so mesmerizing that he can’t bring himself to look away.

Feyre Archeron is one of the most beautiful women he’s seen in his life, and damned if he doesn’t want to see her naked and appreciate little curve of her body and the birthmarks that he can’t normally see, and to watch the little droplets of water moving over her skin as she reaches for the shampoo bottle. Of course Rhys wants to see her naked. He’s been imagining a naked Feyre for months now.

“I want to save on the water bill and do something good for the environment,” Feyre clarifies, hands on her hips and leveling a glare at Rhys that says exactly how much she doesn’t appreciate his attitude. “Do you know how much water we waste every day? Between showering and laundry and doing the dishes? And you and your clothes—how can you have so many shirts?”

Rhys’ lips twitch into a small, mischievous grin. “Would you prefer if I had less clothing?” 

The way he asks it makes Feyre’s cheeks color, as if he’s offering to strip for her right there on the spot and make a show of it. “No,” she replies sharply, annoyed at how Rhys’ grin grows a little bigger at her response. She can just hear his voice in her head, whispering that the lady doth protest too much. Goddamn English majors.

“Then we should stop doing dishes?” Rhys is actually hoping she might agree to that one. Doing dishes is one of his least favorite chores. He’s been guilty of convincing Nuala and Cerridwen to help him with it more than once whenever they’ve deigned to drop in and check on how he’s doing. At that exact moment, in fact, the stack of dirty dishes in the kitchen is so high that Rhys is surprised it hasn’t toppled over yet.

Feyre can see through this suggestion, however, and is even less happy with Rhys now that he’s made it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Rhys isn’t ashamed at all when he replies, “I would.”

“Well, too bad. You’re still on dish duty.” Feyre is a little disappointed that her comment doesn’t seem to bother Rhys. Rhys doesn’t seem phased by it at all, actually. That damned mischievous grin just grows a little bigger, as if he’s endless amused by this entire scenario and there’s a joke there that Feyre just hasn’t been let in on yet.

“But you want to shower together?” Rhys asks again, wanting perfect clarity before this little idea of hers gets put into practice. Feyre, however, is growing more and more impatient with the question. She doesn’t want to be asked again and again if she’s sure that she wants them to share a shower—she wouldn’t have suggested it if she wasn’t sure about the idea. She just wants to do it already. She wants to get it over with, because she really wants a shower and she’s got a date soon with Tarquin, her activist almost-boyfriend who’s always doing things like this as a way of helping to save the environment. And besides, she thinks, it’s only a little nudity. What’s the big deal?

What, Feyre thinks to herself, is the absolute worst that could possibly happen? So she sees Rhys naked.

It’s not like he’s that impressive.

Right?

“Just take your damn clothes off, Night. You’ve got a class on campus this morning, and I’ve got places to be.” Feyre rolls her eyes and turns away to start tugging her shirt over her head, walking over to the couch nearby so she can tuck her clothes there neatly. She strips her pajama shorts and her underwear, suddenly fully aware of her own vulnerability in this little plan of hers that she maybe should have thought through just a little bit more. But it’s okay, she tells herself silently. It’s just a little nudity, no big deal. People in Europe do this kind of stuff all the time, right? They’ve got topless beaches, even. Nudity is no big deal. She straightens and forces herself to take a long, cleansing breath, now fully naked and feeling chilly in the morning air of the small apartment she’s sharing with Rhys.

Nudity is no big deal and she can do this.

Except, as Feyre quickly discovers, being nude with Rhys is totally a big deal. It’s a big, huge, standing fully erect and getting harder the longer she stares at it sort of deal. Feyre’s mouth feels dry just looking at naked Rhys, his cock front and center as her cool blue eyes zero in on it in the first few seconds she looks at him and Rhys—Rhysand Night, the guy with a playboy reputation all over campus, who Feyre hasn’t seen take one girl home in the time they’re been living together—Rhys doesn’t look at all ashamed.

Not, Feyre thinks when she’s actually able to form coherent thoughts again, that he has anything to be ashamed of. Even if Rhys were not in perfect shape, he wouldn’t ever need to be ashamed of his body, but this is just unfair. Every inch of Rhys’ naked form is toned, all chiseled muscle and smooth skin and the sort of hard body that feels safe and secure to melt into after a shitty day of navigating classes and snow, and avoiding your stalker ex-boyfriend. Feyre doesn’t realize that she’s actually crossed the space between them and is reaching out to touch him until she feels the heat of his chest under her hand, fingers grazing over the swirling tattoos he and his brothers got on spring break last year. She’s following the definition of his abs, as if she can’t quite believe that under those black clothes that Rhys is always wearing, that bad boy image he’s so good at showing the world, Rhysand Night looks like he’s just stepped out of some male fitness magazine. Or maybe a show about bikers, she thinks absently. She can see Rhys being some bad ass biker, all tattoos and leather and a gun tucked away somewhere.

She’s only vaguely aware of the way it’s making her own body feel as her eyes slowly move up toward his, his grin gone and replaced with a look that Feyre can’t identify. Something, she thinks, that she’s never seen on Rhys before. Vulnerability and just a hint of fear, and maybe...maybe hope, she thinks. Desire.

Her body feels warm, the space between her legs rushing with heat as she takes slow, unsteady breaths and realizes with a new certainty that this was not a good idea. This, Feyre thinks, is dangerous. Rhysand Night, glorious in his nakedness and ready to be touched, and wanting Feyre.

And Feyre suddenly realizes that she, too, wants to be touched. That her body is almost begging for it. That she wants Rhys to push her back against that wall and press his naked body against hers and feel every inch of him. It’s wrong and dangerous, and so, so right, and she wants it so badly that she can taste it, and this was definitely a bad idea.

“Maybe,” she starts in a quiet voice, breathy and more than a little timid as she gazes up at that intense look he’s giving her, as if he’s imagining exactly the same things that she is. “We should start with recycling.” 

It takes Rhys longer than he wants to admit to be able to respond, being this close to Feyre. Having seen Feyre in this way. “If that’s what you want,” he manages, letting out a shaky breath. He’s not sure what to feel when Feyre’s hand slowly pulls away from him and she begins to back up, some part of him moving with her as she gradually disappears, shoulders pulled tight. Her hands move slowly to cover herself as she backs toward where she left her clothes, swallowing anxiously and looking away abruptly, unable to hold that gaze. He’s not sure what he feels when Feyre won’t look at him anymore, but he’s sure that he shouldn’t have let it go this far. He should’ve stopped Feyre before the clothes came off. He should’ve known that she wouldn’t want this. As much as Rhysand Night wants Feyre Archeron, she wants someone else.

Stupid. Rhys could kick himself for this mistake. 

He has to get out of here. “Do you mind if I—” He doesn’t finish the question, gesturing instead toward the bathroom they share. To the shower that they were going to share only moments ago. 

Feyre still doesn’t look at him, nodding as she turns toward his direction but doesn’t make eye contact. “Yeah. No. Sure. You go first.”

Rhys takes heavy steps toward the bathroom and moves to close the door, feeling the click of it like a punch in the gut as Feyre disappears from his view.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated as I live for external validation and cookies. 
> 
> Let me know if you want to read more. 
> 
> Or pop into my asks on tumblr @artemisausten and leave me a new Feysand request!


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